A Diseased World
by Divinely Ethereal
Summary: Jin Kazama is a disenchanted youth lamenting the loss of his childhood innocence, but he is forced to accept the fact that he is not the only sufferer, that everyone else has their own crosses to bear, because this world is truly diseased... OneShot


**A Diseased World**

_**A/N: Hola! Sorry I've been MIA for a while, but school's pretty demanding, even a mere couple of weeks after the finals. Plus, there's my graduation thing to plan, and that's a major headache. Anyway, I'll be posting this one-shot that I dreamed up in class(big surprise!), and I'll be updating other fics later. Also, I'll have to catch up on all the updates and new fics that I missed. But that's ok; I have 9 days off now. And I almost forgot: I don't own Tekken..**_

_New York City, December_

This vast metropolis of towering skyscrapers was bustling with activity, as people milled about, wrapped in layers of protective clothing, finishing their Christmas shopping. A loud giggle here, a faint "Merry Christmas" there, the sweet-sounding carols and the splash of festive colours coming from the fronts of countless shops and stores, all combined to lend a tangible merriment to the surroundings, one that made the frigid night air and the frequent puddles of slush seem ever so insignificant.

No-one spared the youth a glance, as inappropriately dressed for the adverse weather as he was: a light, purple jacket with the hood concealing his face; no mittens, just a pair of red fingerless gloves; sneakers, instead of boots. This suited him just fine, however, as attention was the very last thing he desired just now.

But what was it that he desired anyway? The twenty-one-year-old Jin Kazama asked himself as he ploughed on, tugging off his hood, not caring whether he was identified, and watching as his breath came out in a misty cloud. He really wasn't sure at that point. The intense flames of hatred and rage had burned low, the moment he had defeated his Mishima predecessors at the conclusion of the Forth Iron Fist. And now, shortly after the Fifth, he had that apple of sin, the Mishima Zaibatsu under his thumb. But handling mundane business matters could not begin to fill up the bottomless abyss, the deep void that stretched his soul, day after day.

He remembered how it used to be before. Eons ago, he had been a happy schoolboy, with not a care in the world, having known nothing but sweet sunshine and his mother's caring caresses. Then came his mother's death and his grandfather's betrayal, which had made him into an exile. And now that he came to rule all, he realised that if the great emptiness did not claim him, then the endless business bureaucracies certainly would. So he chose to revert to that old 'wanderer' stage of his life, to live on the margins, unnoticed. He much preferred this arrangement to living in the lap of luxury, for he was sick of having to hear his tragic story told in hushed whispers behind his back, sick of the frustration that caused him to yell and smash priceless ornaments by day, and cry oceans of tears by night. So he'd fled to this far-off city, away from it all.

Of course, there were people who believed that they knew him, that they understood him; people like his ex-classmate Ling Xiaoyu, his estranged cousin, Asuka, even the cocky, hot-headed Hwoarang. He saw the lack of judgement in their eyes, was grateful for it, was perplexed that they were not repulsed by the darkness that slithered from him like a dirty serpent. And yet, he'd found little comfort in all that, and after the Fifth he'd retreated into his inner shell, where they could not reach him, fortified himself within it, and refused to come out.

And of course, there was his deceased mother, who had given him her unconditional love. The pain of losing her was still raw, even after all those years. Beside the pain, he felt something else, something akin to resentment for his mother. He recalled the day when she had revealed his father's identity to him.

_But why, Mom, why did he do those things, make those choices?_

_Because, Jin, in our lives, sometimes, things happen that are just...out of our control..._

He had clung to that explanation like a drowning person; it became his lifeline, and he used it to justify his own actions, his own choices, his own mistakes... He bit his lip,experiencing a great wave of self-loathing.

"Hey you!" Jin was jolted out of his reverie, to find himself in a filthy alley, face to face with a man who looked vaguely familiar: tall, broad, long unkempt dirty blond hair, haggard,unshaven face, bloodshot eyes, bottle of beer in hand. Then it hit him. This was Paul Phoenix, the American who had almost won the Third Iron Fist.

" You're that Jap I just keep missin' " The man continued in a slurred voice. " You still owe me a rematch, man!"

Jin looked at him with a mixture of revulsion and pity. He had never met Phoenix in person, but he had heard a great deal about his fighting prowess. How had the man gone from so high a pedestal to so mean a state? Would Jin end up going down the same path?

"I'm sorry; you must be confusing me with someone else," Jin replied tersely.

" Oh," the American squinted at him. " Damn, you're right... he'd be a whole lot older now, wouldn't he? My bad, man..." And Phoenix staggered away, pausing to retch on the sidewalk. Jin walked off, not needing Phoenix to tell him who "he" was supposed to be,positive that the American had meant Kazuya Mishima, and he silently cursed the entity that had made him into the spitting image of his father.

Jin soon made it back to the tiny apartment he had rented under a false name. With the chill from outside seeping in through the thin walls, and the raised voices of the couple who lived one floor above, sleep was a blessing that hung just out of reach. He lay there, staring up at the stained ceiling, the argument between the couple growing more heated. He frowned,as the man, who was obviously a drunk, a user, or both, hurled loud obscenities(half of which Jin couldn't understand, even with his good command of English), at his wife. Then Jin heard something that made him bolt upright: The frightful wails of a child, growing more insistent and terrible by the second, and the man's slurred voice as he yelled," Shut the hell up, you little shit!", and more screams as the crazed man took his rage out on the child.

Jin was instantly galvanised into action. He left his apartment in a rush and took the stairs to the upper level three at a time. He kicked down his neighbours' front door, burst into their home and launched himself at the child-beater.

It took Jin Kazama less than ten seconds to inflict on the man the sort of damage that would render him comatose. A filmy red mist obstructed his vision as he pummelled the man to the ground, unconsciously using his unlearned Mishima-ryu.

The reddish haze persisted, even as Jin turned to acknowledge the shell-shocked faces of the man's cowering wife, and the little girl she held in her arms. On the floor beside them was the pitiful form of a boy, who looked to be no older than three or four.

Jin quickly knelt beside him and sucked in his breath. Every inch of the boy was battered, and he was convulsing, going into shock, his eyes rolling back in their sockets. Jin realised that one of the boy's lungs had collapsed. He knew what that felt like from experience. He vividly recalled how his grandfather Heihachi had gone all out on him during one sparring session when he was sixteen, how he had ended up with a busted left lung and torn trachea.

Then suddenly, the boy's heart stopped beating, and Jin knew it would be futile to revive him without the proper equipment, so he proceeded to do the only thing that could work. He laid his hands on the boy's chest, tapped into his reserves of demonic power, and produced a current. His fingertips crackled with electricity, and the shock was enough to restore the boy's heart beat. He kept monitoring the boy, restarting his heart whenever it failed, until he heard the sirens outside-one of the neighbours must have heard the disturbance and called the police. He quickly fled the scene, very reluctant to be questioned.

XXXXXXX

The following day, Jin Kazama caught an early flight back to Tokyo. Ling Xiaoyu was ecstatic at the sight of him, but he coldly rebuffed her, unceremoniously handed her a Christmas gift, and told her to leave him alone. He then locked himself in his study and brooded.

Jin sighed heavily, burying his head in his hands. He had kept that small boy alive until he was placed in the safe hands of professionals; he had saved him. But he was not satisfied, far from it, in fact. If he had learned one thing from seeing the once-proud Paul Phoenix reduced to a humiliated shell of a man, of seeing the thin, broken body of a four-year-old, it was that everyone in this world had their own crosses to bear, and not just him, which in the end, confirmed to him what he had suspected all along; that this world, the one he'd adored as a child, was incurably ill, completely and utterly diseased. It needed to be purged, to be put out of its misery, and fast. He would be the one to take the initiative. He would destroy it, so that through his guiding power, a new, ideal state would rise from the ashes.

But of course, for all that to be accomplished, necessary evils needed to be committed. Jin hesitated, trying to justify his actions. He dismissed his mother's reasoning, simply because at that point, he felt that nothing was ' out of control'. But another line of reasoning leapt at him.

_For the greater good._

Yes, that was why he needed to do all those things that would make him shudder. It was for the greater good, after all.

Jin Kazama sat back in his chair. A flicker of scarlet passed through his eyes. He smiled.

_**A/N: And we all know what happens next: Jin turns into a complete nutter and starts World War III, lol, gotta love him now that he's totally badass! And you know what? I think Jin and Kaz angst rules(not that I've read many Jin fics, due to the extravagant involvement of a certain bubbly Chinese girl) but I did have a great time torturing Jin mentally. Not that I'm a sadist!**_

_**Happy Holidays!**_


End file.
